


Undisclosed Desires

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, Pining, Rescue, Unresolved Sexual Tension, blint - Freeform, flint being a stubborn and suicidal ginger, missing 3x02 scene, ship killing storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The missing scene in 3.02 in which Billy rescues a suicidal Flint from dying in the storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As soon as he was below deck and the hatch was closed, the roar of the storm dulled and Billy took stock.

Sprawled on both his left and right were the men, many of them worse off then he. Billy walked past them, wincing as he saw several men with bloodied faces and wounds from flying debris. He spotted Mr. Silver further down and went to him. It looked like John had not fared much better. Though Billy saw no physical wounds on him, Silver looked haunted.

Apparently, it had been rough below decks as well.

“Where’s the captain?” Silver asked when he saw no one behind Billy.

Billy’s chest tightened. Instead of replying he cast his eyes above them. Silver followed his gaze, then looked at Billy with concern.

“He’s tied himself to the helm,” said Billy gravely. “He refused to leave it.”

Billy could well understand the confused expression Silver had.

“He’s going to get himself killed up there,” said the quartermaster. Silver’s eyes moved towards the stairs and the hatch. Billy could tell he wanted to go topside, but one look at the other man told Billy he was in no condition.

“You can’t, not with your leg,” he said instead.

Silver threw him a defiant look but nodded after a moment.

“I’ll see to it he makes it through,” said Billy. He told himself it was to placate Silver’s fears—and by extension the crew’s—that their captain would survive the tempest, but the tight feeling in Billy’s chest told him it was more than that.

Brushing it aside, he nodded to Silver and turned to go topside once more.

\-------

The force of the wind and rain still sent a shock through Billy’s body as he climbed up through the hatch. The temperature had dropped so that the rain that pelted his skin was uncomfortably cool. He grunted as he pulled himself up on the main deck. The ship’s heaving was worse and he struggled just to stand. Debris from the broken mainmast was everywhere, along with a few unsecured cannon carriages that shuffled dangerously around the railing.

Billy grabbed onto one of the thick ropes that still remained stretched across the deck. He turned towards the helm, where he could just make out Flint’s figure behind the massive wheel and a flash of barred white teeth. Billy pulled along the rope and against the wind, which was so strong it was a wonder the Walrus was still upright at all.

He reached the stair railing to the quarterdeck and pushed himself into the small corner beside the helm and beside his captain. Flint looked like every bit the madman the crew thought him to be. The rope was tied around his waist, keeping him from sliding across the deck, and only his grip on the spokes of the wheel and his braced legs kept him from falling over. Billy had no idea how he’d maintained this long. Steering any ship the size of the Walrus was difficult enough in a bad storm, but to do it alone took remarkable strength and willpower.

Flint turned to him, eyes like slits in the pounding rain.

“What are you doing, Billy?” he shouted. Even so, Billy could barely hear him. “Get below, now!”

Billy threw out one hand on a spoke and pulled himself to Flint, vehemently shaking his head.

“No!” he yelled back. “You can’t stay out here!”

They both stumbled and hurried to catch themselves as the Walrus took a deep lurch to her starboard side. Billy squinted to see they had ridden up on another massive wave and were coming down. Flint grimaced and turned the wheel accordingly. He took his hand off one spoke and moved it to another. Billy caught a glimpse of blood there.

Anger shot through him. Just what the fuck was Flint trying to do?

Throwing caution to the wind Billy reached out and grabbed him by the top of his shoulder. If he did not take command of the situation Flint would surely die out here, and even though he didn’t seem to care about his own welfare, Billy still did. They all needed Flint’s strength right now; there was no one else to lead them against England.

“We’re going inside, now!” Billy shouted.

Flint ignored him, keeping both hands firmly on the wheel. He looked like a man possessed, but by what and why, Billy had yet to figure out. Gritting his teeth, Billy took out a knife from his boot and started cutting through the rope that bound Flint to the helm.

“What are you doing?” Flint roared at him. “Someone has to steer, or we’ll be lost…”

“We’re already lost, damnit!” Billy shouted back. He cut harder, until the rope frayed and snapped. Then, without hesitation, he lurched forward and hooked an arm around Flint’s waist. Flint tried to resist, but Billy found it was relatively easy to pull the other man to him. The ship rolled again and more of the ocean rushed over her side, threatening to drown them. Billy tugged Flint towards the cabin door off to their right. He knew they should go below, where they couldn’t feel the effects of the storm as much and let everyone know they were both still alive, but Billy could feel his own strength waning, and something told him Flint would fight him the entire way.

Flint did, however, concede to going towards his cabin. Once Billy had him away from the helm Flint nearly went limp in his arms and Billy had to half drag him along. He hiked Flint’s arm over his shoulder and together they made a bee line to the door. Billy swung it open and they stumbled inside. He had to momentarily let go of Flint to shut the door, pushing it hard against the hurricane-force winds. He shut and barred it, letting out a huff. He wiped the water from his face and blinked, getting his bearings.

Flint had slumped down to the floor and looked barely conscious. Alarmed, Billy bent down and picked him up back up.

“Come on, just a little further,” he encouraged. Flint grunted, letting Billy guide him across the room and to his hanging bunk. He sat Flint down on one end. Flint sat with his legs sprawled as though he were still on deck, but his head hung limply and his eyes fluttered open and shut. Billy had never seen someone as beyond exhaustion as Flint was now, and it stung him.

He managed to shrug Flint out of the heavy and wet leather coat, tossing it aside. He was prepared to leave then and let the man sleep, but then Billy noticed he had started shivering.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Flint reared his head, a flash of clarity behind his eyes as he weakly struggled out of his soaked shirt. He looked up at Billy for the first time, eyes red-rimmed, and nodded to the small second door in the cabin.

“Shirts in there,” he said, barely managing to get the words out.

Again, Billy felt a stab of pain for him, perhaps more than he should have. Flint had nearly killed all of them, after all. It had taken Billy every ounce of obedience he had to even agree to climb the mainmast before the storm. He and Flint both knew the incredible danger of the maneuver, and yet Flint had expected little resistance once he’d looked the bosun in the eyes. Billy had given none, not verbally at least.

He pondered over Flint’s ability to predict his behavior as he pulled out another black shirt from the few spare articles of clothing he found behind the door. Everything the man owned was either gray or black now.

“Here, this ought to do…”

His voice trailed off when he saw that Flint was flat on his back, still as a stone. Jesus. Billy felt his heart skip a beat. He hurried over to the hanging bed and touched Flint’s bare arm. Flint jerked at the touch and made a noise but didn’t open his eyes. Billy let out a sigh. Just exhaustion, then.

Billy frowned down at the shirt and tossed it on the desk behind him, leaning back against it. He let out a long-suffering sigh, full of tension, and watched the sleeping form. Why the hell had he gotten so jumpy just now? Of course Flint had simply fallen asleep; God only knew the last time the man had gotten any decent amount of sleep in recent days.

Billy found himself in awe of Flint’s will power, of his ability to let sheer desire drive him. He’d known plenty of men who let their passions guide them, oftentimes foolishly, but never had he known a man whose desires were also coupled with the cunning and intelligence Flint possessed. There was that, and Flint’s simple charisma that Billy always felt himself being pulled towards no matter how hard he tried to resist it.

Billy let his eyes roam over Flint’s bare upper half. Flint wasn’t built in the same way as himself, but it was clear he’d been used to labor most his life. His arms especially were thick and muscled and covered with freckles. Billy had seen his captain’s arms plenty of times, but he had never seen him shirtless before. Now he saw the freckles covered his shoulders and a smattering of his chest as well. Flint was on his back, with one arm crooked up beside his face, the other arm loosely resting across his belt. He looked…

Billy swallowed. He let his eyes study the muscles of Flint’s breast, down to his stomach. The contrast of Flint’s fair skin and coppery hair to the black pants that clung wetly to his legs caused something to stir in Billy; something warm and pleasant and achingly familiar. Damn. He looked away. No use going down that road, not with Flint.

Pushing his feelings aside he rose and dared to shake Flint into a semi-awake state so that he could put the shirt on him. Flint let his arms be raised, shrugging into the fabric more out of instinct than conscious effort. As soon as it was on he laid back down again, moaning lightly. Billy stood over him, unable to shake off his concern. Perhaps it was best he left.

“I’m going below deck,” he said softly. “Get some rest.”

As he turned to go Flint’s hand reached up with surprising speed and weakly grabbed his wrist. Billy froze and looked at him.

Flint’s eyes fluttered open and moved up, fixating on him.

“Stay.”

His voice was raw and urgent. Billy blinked down at him. Flint still held his gaze and his wrist, and Billy saw so much pain and vulnerability in the sea-green eyes that usually dazzled him. He found he could not refuse the request. He bent down close to Flint’s face and said, “I’ll stay.”

He gently pulled out of Flint’s grip and laid his hand across his chest. Then Billy sat down in the chair at the desk, heart beating wildly. What the hell had that been? Did Flint even know it was him, or was he seeing Miranda Barlow, or some other ghost?

Billy couldn’t imagine Flint would look at _him_ that way, not ever. And yet...

Billy clenched his jaw together and firmly told himself _no_ , he didn’t want Flint to look at him like that again. He didn’t want to see the cracks into the abyss that he knew held some part of his captain captive, the deep recesses that Billy knew Flint fought against every day.

Except that he _did_ want Flint to look at him like that again, because it reaffirmed that Flint was as human as the rest of them, that he loved and lost and suffered for it.

Billy stood and looked out the stern windows. All was dark, but he could tell the storm had abated. The dull roar of the wind and rain was lessened and the Walrus rocked more gently. They were out of immediate danger. Nonetheless he resolved himself to remain in the cabin all night. Truthfully he was afraid to leave Flint alone. He told himself Flint could grow ill, that he might need more covers should he grow too cold, or that if he woke at some point he might be disoriented and would need someone to stabilize him, reassure him. All good and sound reasons he should stay. That is what he would tell Silver and the rest of them later.

Billy moved to sit on the window seat behind Flint’s head and next to the cannon at the gun port. He took off his boots and belt and made himself as comfortable as possible, leaning back against the wall so that he faced the sleeping captain. He imagined Flint’s coppery arms again, his broad chest. He thought of the mass of dark red-brown hair Flint had cut off and found himself missing it. These were dangerous thoughts, he knew, but in the dead of night, lost on the ocean, and without the company of other men Billy allowed himself to be pulled in that direction. The moment crested and then ebbed, until his own eyes grew heavy and he could no longer focus on any one thought.

Bright light steaming through the windows roused him a little after daybreak. He stiffly left the window seat. Flint still slept. He had hardly moved, in fact. Billy quietly hovered over him again, assessing him in the daylight. He still looked slightly haggard, but he was dry and seemed peaceful. Billy also noticed the ship was no longer moving at all, which was not a good sign. He had better re-join the others before someone came barging in. He knew he should rouse Flint but he did not.

Billy turned to go but paused and, against his better judgment, reached down and just barely touched Flint’s head, feeling the stubbly hair there. It was surprisingly soft. Billy’s chest tightened inexplicably and he pulled away. He picked up Flint’s coat and discarded shirt and neatly laid both out on a window seat before he left the cabin.

He might never understand why Flint did half of what he did. However, Miranda Barlow’s life and death had shown him that much of what he did had to do with her welfare, though often Billy wondered if there was someone else who steered Flint’s desires. Billy had followed the man this far and for this long, and he was resolved to keep following him. Because the crew and perhaps all of Nassau needed Flint, he told himself. Because he and Flint usually worked well together, and after all, Silver’s leg meant Flint would need Billy for certain tasks, he told himself.

He told himself.

***


End file.
